Luther and Emily descended the stairs one step at a time, walking beside each other as they did so. The duke’s castle was more grandiose than Luther’s mansion, but older and in less repair. It had lost its shine sometime in the last century. Where Luther’s house was fresh and more advanced with magical glowing crystals, the castle held torches in its sconces. The portraits and paintings in Luther’s halls were newer, with more romantic styles than the ancient flat paintings adorning the walls.
The atmosphere made Luther feel as though he were walking through history, stepping on stones laid generations ago by hands long since burned to ashes. The ghosts that might haunt these halls if not for burning, or if Luther was brave enough to withdraw his crystal, might terrify him.
He wondered if the crystal might illuminate all ghosts, or if it were only Criella’s. Would he see other spirits if he wasn’t bound to them the way he was to Criella? The union ritual forged the link, and death severed that bond, and yet, she remained bound to him beyond death. So if not death, then what? Ascension? Was it the burning ritual that severed the connection?
Luther’s thoughts had been swirling around everything he’d been told and taught, and what he knew to be true. He didn’t have the answers, or even a method to discover them, but he understood that not everything was as clear as the temple made it out to be.
Jowangshin took issue with his abandoning the traditions, and he had no doubt the others did too. Rhosyn wasn’t going to participate in anything approaching necromancy, and he couldn’t fault her for that. Still, he wished there was a way to communicate with Criella more effectively. Perhaps in time, he’d be able to learn the psychomancy spells necessary, but until then, he had to rely on his patience.
He regretted his oaths sworn against Lucas, now that he knew what he knew about the unburnt dead. Still, he assumed Lucas’ spirit would haunt these halls, not his. Perhaps the man’s spirit was even now following them, following Emily, trying to communicate with her before they burned his body.
He had to wonder what burning part of the body would do. Perhaps his ghost would lack a torso, reduced to a pile of hovering limbs and a severed head. The macabre thought amused him, but he didn’t laugh at it. Doing so might have been the height of rudeness with Emily so close beside him. Still, she didn’t seem to mourn the death of her abuser. Whatever the relationship between them, he was glad her bravery had spared Emily the fate of the Feothe clan.
The tower they descended opened into the rear hall of the castle, with the grounds outside waiting for him. Petros was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs and gave a slight bow.
“You, sir, are the talk of the empire,” Petros said.
Emily gave them both a small curtsey and continued her journey outside, giving Luther some privacy with his father-in-law.
“And how’s Helena?” Luther asked. “Recovered?”
“She’s in the baths with the healers, but the worst of it is past. She’s stable, but there’s not enough of your magic left for her to finish healing herself,” Petros said. “At least, that’s what she told me.”
Luther nodded. “I had to use the last of it to demonstrate my arcanum to the duke’s union. Otherwise, they were going to arrest us, possibly execute us, for cheating during the challenge.”
Petros stroked his beard as he crossed his arms over his chest. “So it’s true then? You have multiple arcana?”
Luther nodded.
“And that’s why you wouldn’t tell anyone what it was at the dinner party,” Petros said, nodding as if he were answering a question he’d had. “I’ll admit, I had my worries, but seeing you spar with Helena put most of them to rest. Seeing you fight Lucas and Branan has slain what few remained. You’re a worthy man, Luther. I’m proud to call you my son-in-law.”
Luther smiled. “Thank you. With my father having preceded me to heaven, I am happy to think of you and the Cerul union as my family, as I did the Verdells.” He’d think the same of Jowangshin’s parents as well, but he wasn’t confident that she had any. Most priests and priestesses in the temples were orphans, which was why their status within the temple was so important to them.
“My partners are in the ballroom, where your union is the main topic of conversation. Will you make an appearance?” Petros asked.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Luther said, gesturing toward the exit. He started walking, and Petros followed. “We plan to retire as soon as possible and return to the mansion to rest. We’ve overextended our host’s hospitality as it is.”
“Indeed,” Petros said, as if he expected the answer. “Our duke and his spouses make for poor hosts. I’d worry that you’d made some powerful enemies today, but I think anyone who considers you an enemy after that display will plan to avoid you in the future, not draw your ire.”
Luther grinned. “Let’s hope so. I have no wish to add to the bones decorating my arena.”
Petros stiffened in surprise at the horrific remark, but Luther pressed on, and he followed. Thunder continued to rumble above them, and heavy raindrops fell from the sky. As if mourning the loss of its master, the storm opened, and those who were outside raced each other to the protection of the castle’s awnings.
The pyres were half-built in the arena. The servants hurried to erect canopies over them, but flinched away with every lightning flash. The wood they’d gathered was soaking wet, and what remained of Branan and Luther lay out in the open, covered with treated canvas to keep the bodies from soaking, even as the ground beneath them turned to mud.
Luther scanned for spouses, hoping to spot them, but he didn’t see them. Any nobles remaining outside were moving toward the door, and Luther followed them inside to the rear hall, where their wet shoes and boots squeaked against the stone. It was the Gray family who came in from the rain, each of whom seemed more comfortable outdoors than in.
Servants attended them with rags and towels for drying, and Luther stood to the side, waiting against the wall by the door as Holly’s family passed him. Lady Holly Gray, red-headed and beautiful, smiled at him as she spotted him. Her wet cheeks blushed crimson when he returned the smile, and she swallowed, as if gathering her nerves to approach and speak to him.
Luther looked to Petros beside him and chuckled. “Well, I hope my wives are out of the rain at the very least. Perhaps they are already in the carriage, but let me attend to Helena first, since they are no longer on the way.”
Petros nodded and led the way to the stairs that descended to the baths below the castle. Here, the damp stone was warm, and the natural springs beneath the castle tossed their steam into the air as salt stung Luther’s nostrils.
He found Helena lying on a table. A woman in a blood-stained white robe stood beside her. The healer’s golden hair shone from the sweat on her brow and the steam in the air. Helena’s platinum locks fanned out behind her head, which rested on a small pillow. Helena was naked, her clothes and armor beneath the table, but there was nothing erotic about the gore on more than half her body. Sticky bits of blackened flesh remained unbandaged.
The woman healing her wiped her brow with her forearm as she removed another flaky portion of Helena’s skin and dropped it into a bucket. She placed her hand over the section, cast a spell, and a golden light passed between them. Luther had seen this kind of healing before. It wasn’t so much a restoration of the damaged tissue, but the growth of new tissue to replace the old. They had to pull and carve away the damaged bits to let Helena grow anew.
His eyes traveled the room, looking for the other healers, but he found none. Eira and Rhosyn sat on a bench against the wall, waiting for Rhosyn’s turn with the healer. Both lifted their eyes to Luther as he came in, but neither looked at the table.
Besides Helena, her mother, Regina, aided the healer, while her other father, Lionel, stood pale near a bucket that smelled of bile and sickness. Her wounds were bad, but far from the worst Luther had seen. Though they had been down here healing her for some time.
“Is she safe to travel?” Luther asked, not keen to leave her as a hostage at the duke’s castle.
The healer didn’t look up from her work. “No, you idiot.”
Dame Regina Cerul, standing behind the healer and offering her clean bandages, cleared her throat.
The healer finished the spell and looked up to meet Luther’s eyes. She looked him over, but not as most did to judge his beauty; she looked at the specks of blood and carnage on him, surmised they were not from his wounds, and returned her attention to Helena.
“My answer remains the same,” the healer said. “If you wish to complain about my bedside manner, you are free to take it up with my employer.”
“Is she awake?” Luther asked, not caring if the healer didn’t observe the customary pleasantries. The duke wasn’t paying her for her manners, but for her skill.
“No,” The healer answered. “I gave her a sleeping draft. It helps the healing work faster, and screaming is tiresome, especially down here. Everything echoes.”
Luther nodded. “Please prepare her for travel,” he said. “We’re leaving.”
“She’s not ready for that. It’ll be a few days before she can sit in a carriage without tremendous pain.” The healer wasn’t arguing, merely stating a fact.
Luther glanced at Regina, then at Lionel and Petros, who stood off to one side. He surveyed the remaining damage on Helena and frowned.
“I’m nearly out of magic,” the healer explained. “So it’ll be a few hours before I can continue, once I get this one done.”
“Are you connected to this household in any way?” Luther asked, curious. “A member of the duke’s union? Or a servant?”
“Neither,” the healer answered. “I hire out my services in a town nearby, and His Grace sometimes pays me to patch up the people he doesn’t consider worthy of Estrid’s attention.”
“Estrid is another healer, married to the duke,” Regina explained.
She must have seen the curiosity on Luther’s brow, and he nodded his thanks for her speedy assistance.
“I see I must remind our hosts as to their duty,” Luther said, drawing in a breath. “Where may I find Estrid?”
“With the others, I expect,” Lionel said. “They were interviewing you the last I knew.”
Luther nodded. “And healer, what is your name?”
“Dahlia,” the healer said. “Dahlia Landers.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dahlia. Would you be willing to travel with us once Helena’s wounds are healed enough for her to do so? She will need someone skilled and knowledgeable to aid her recovery,” Luther said.
“It’d be costly,” Dahlia said. “To hire my services by the day.”
Luther raised an eyebrow. To suggest that he might not be able to afford it was quite an insult for a member of her class to give his, but then he realized the state he appeared in, and laughed. “Despite appearances, I’m not a butcher. I can afford you, if you’re willing.”
“Then, yes, thank you, my lord,” Dahlia said, returning to work.
Luther nodded and left the chamber. The fury spreading through him sped his ascent from the baths and his walk through the halls. Damn these bastards and their hatred. They could condescend to him for his father’s species if they wished to, but to neglect their duty in healing Helena? Killing them all seemed cumbersome, but more appealing by the minute.
He found Estrid and the other spouses in the ballroom. His appearance there made quite a stir since he came from the servants’ entrance. Murmured voices flitted back and forth as ladies in gowns and men in suits bent from their chairs to whisper to each other. He didn’t doubt he’d shocked them by approaching the elevated platform so swiftly, still covered in gore from battle. He almost had to shout above the murmuring for Estrid to hear him.
“My lady, forgive me, but it seems that we need your assistance in the baths. My wife Helena requires your healing magic, and as our hosts, it is your duty to see to the wounds of the victorious.” Luther said, loud and clear.
“Is she not attended by a healer already?” Estrid asked, glancing at Orion for support. She didn’t seem surprised by the request and had her answer ready. Yet Luther responded before Orion could overcome his surprise.
“Yes, but her wounds have outpaced the hired healer’s magic. If untended, such wounds might become infected, and we will not be able to make our journey home,” Luther said. “And as we do not wish to impose upon your generous hospitality, I thought I would request your superior healing skills.”
Estrid checked Orion’s features, looking for an answer.
“Go on, Estrid,” Callista shooed her. “You’re always looking for an opportunity to show off your skills, and we can’t trust the care of our guests to hired help if they’ve already depleted their power.”
Estrid frowned, but rose from her seat after a healthy swallow of wine. The assembly behind Luther watched, and with the eyes on her, she sidled from her seat and gestured for Luther to lead the way.
“Of course, please forgive me, I did not realize her wounds were dire enough to require my attention.” Estrid was not as good a liar as Luther.
“Of course, my lady, I know that your kind heart would never have forsaken such a duty out of malice,” Luther bowed.
Luther led the way, and Estrid followed behind him as quietly as a mouse. At least convincing her to help Helena hadn’t taken much. He only had to remind her of her duty as their host in front of the entire assembly of gathered nobles.
Estrid was a much faster healer than Dahlia, but Luther expected as much from one of the duke’s union. She stood beside the table, pressing her hands flat against Helena’s wounds. Helena was still asleep, but her face contorted in sleepy discomfort as Estrid cast her spell.
The burns on her reversed their damage under a glowing silver light, and the charred flesh took on a healthy pallor once more. She slid her hands over the damage in slow strokes, leaving no marks behind. With so many eyes on her, she couldn’t fail to do an exemplary job.
It taxed Estrid’s power to do it, but as it was her duty, by law. When she finished, she straightened and started toward the door, but Luther blocked her path.
“I’m afraid Rhosyn requires a healer as well,” Luther said. He pointed over Estrid’s shoulder to where Rhosyn sat with a compress over her hip. “The rest of us can heal our nicks, scratches, and bruises the slow way.”
Estrid stared at him. “Well, I wouldn’t want anyone to claim I failed in my duty as hostess.” She turned toward Rhosyn. “Come here.”
Rhosyn stood with Eira’s help and hobbled to where Estrid waited for her. She removed the compress, baring Rhosyn’s wound beneath the torn clothing.
“This is going to hurt,” Estrid warned. “Do you have something to bite down on?”
Eira gave Rhosyn a belt, and Rhosyn clamped her teeth over it as Estrid slapped her hand over Rhosyn’s hip and activated her spell. The slap was unnecessary, and Rhosyn’s eyes teared from the pain as her hip popped into place and the flesh knit itself back together. Her legs went limp, but Eira caught her, keeping her upright. Luther rushed to her, holding her as well, and glaring at Estrid, who refused to look at him.
Finally, Estrid finished her spell, and Rhosyn was able to stand on her leg once more, perfectly fine.
“If that’s all,” Estrid said, and hardly waited for an answer before she left.
“What a charming woman,” Regina said, her voice dry and sarcastic. “It’s a good thing Helena wasn’t awake for that, or Estrid might not have survived it.”
Luther gave a dry, mirthless chuckle at Regina’s comments, but let Rhosyn preoccupy his attention. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, my lord,” Rhosyn said. “Sorry for the fuss.”
“It’s no fuss,” Luther said. “I’m glad I was able to demand she do her duty.”
“Aye,” Petros said. “What a bitch.”
“Where is Jowangshin?” Luther asked.
“Waiting for us at the carriage,” Eira answered. “She has loaded everything and readied the horses. Wyll is ready, and all we wait on is to say our goodbyes.”
“Then we wait on nothing. The duke’s spouses are feasting, and the nobility with them. This is the perfect time for us to leave without bombardment,” Luther said.
“We’ll clean up here,” Regina said. “It’s the least we can do.”
Luther bowed to Petros, Lionel, and Regina. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for taking care of our daughter,” Petros said. “We’ll see you again soon.”
“I look forward to it,” Luther said. “Please, feel free to come and visit us when you can. You’re family, that means you’re always welcome.”
Petros and the others nodded, and Luther gestured for Dahlia to come with them. She helped him carry Helena on a stretcher, with Luther walking ahead of him while Eira carried her supplies in a small case. Together, they traversed the castle until they reached the entrance hallway and had to stop.
Several noble ladies had gathered at the castle’s entrance, chattering at, more than with, Jowangshin as the slender priestess attempted to move past them. She waved to Luther and the others, and half a dozen heads turned in their direction at the same time.
Doom settled into Luther’s stomach. He attempted a weak smile, and was answered by several fluttering eyelashes as the group of ladies rushed toward him. Eira and Rhosyn closed ranks, each clinging to one of Luther’s arms as his hands tightened on the stretcher spindles at his side.
“Lord Le Fey, my name is–”
“Ladies, I am sure that it would be nice to meet each of you,” Luther said, raising his voice slightly so that it carried. “But now is not the time. I would so much prefer to greet each of you under better circumstances, where I might give you the time and attention you so rightfully deserve.”
The women looked disappointed at that answer, and Luther did his best to take them in briefly. They varied in age, but he’d say that they were in their twenties and thirties. Their gowns were of finer material than he expected, but that made sense given the elegance of a visit to the duke’s castle.
Each dithered, but moved aside when Luther stepped forward. He couldn’t tell if they were enamored with him or scared of him. Their expressions, those not hidden by fans, were a mixture of admiration, fear, curiosity, and lust, which surprised him.
“My husband has assured us that we will soon throw a ball,” Eira said, sending a flutter through the small crowd. “Now, please, step aside. Our wife needs our help getting to the carriage.”
The others listened to her, stepping aside, even as they tittered about the possibility of a ball. Luther raised an eyebrow at Eira, but he’d address that later. It had caused the blockade to part, so he took advantage of the opening and pressed forward.
Jowangshin met them and guided them to the carriages, even as the rain pelted them. Emily was already inside hers, waiting patiently behind theirs as Luther and Jowangshin loaded Helena into theirs. Eira and Rhosyn waited beneath the protection of the castle gate from the rain until they were able to enter.
Dahlia hesitated at their carriage, unsure whether to ride with them or give them their privacy. A person of her station should customarily have ridden with the driver, or on a horse of her own behind the carriage. If the day had been better, she might have, but with the rain, Luther had no plans to make her do so.
“You can ride with me!” Emily called from the carriage behind them. “There’s plenty of space!”
Dahlia looked questioningly between the two carriages.
“Go on, Miss Burnett is my guest and currently staying with us. She’s going to the same location, and we can always have you change carriages if Helena requires your skills.” Luther said, speaking as quickly as he could while the rain fell.
Dahlia nodded and dashed to the other carriage. The door shut, and Luther leaned back, letting his exhaustion settle against his limbs.
Jowangshin sat across from him, with Helena, who leaned against the wall in her slumber. Rhosyn and Eira sat on either side of Luther, and Rhosyn hugged Luther’s arm to her and kissed his cheek.
He looked at her in surprise. “I thought you were angry with me.”
Rhosyn shrugged. “Thank you for saving me during the combat.”
Luther nodded. “You’re welcome. Thank you for fighting with me.”
“Of course, husband,” Rhosyn said.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Jowangshin said, yawning. “But take a rest. You’ve earned it.”
“As you wish,” Luther said, chuckling as Eira and Rhosyn rested their heads against his shoulders. The warm bodies, comfortable cushions, soft hair as a pillow, and rocking carriage relaxed him, as did the pelting rain on the roof. Warm, dry, and safe from the duke’s grasp, Luther released the tension he’d been unconsciously carrying since they arrived, and sleep took him with a vengeance.